Spiderweb
by trenchcoatswift
Summary: It started with a case. It always starts with a case, doesn't it? Sherlock and John had been tracking a bomber through underground London. While on the investigation, Sherlock meets a woman, who captures his attention. Little does he know that this woman is dangerous. Sherlock and John are caught in a web of lies and deceit. With the spider getting closer.


Sherlock had been on mundane cases for the past three months, and the raven haired detective was thirsting for a better problem to solve. He received a text message from D.I. Lestrade two nights prior about the series of 'gas leaks' in upper-class London. The police had only covered it up as that, to hide the truth from the public. In actual truth, a serial bomber had been targeting powerful politicians' houses, trying to knock out the defining people in London's economy. A trail of clues and unnerving deductions had led him to the White Cat Night Club on this chilly Wednesday evening. The sky had already turned a dark purple, as Sherlock and his companion, John Watson entered the club.

Neon lights flashed from corners and hazy smoke from the clubbers cigarettes filled the dim lit room. Sherlock's nostrils flared as the smoke entered his system. He glanced quickly at John to see is he was watching. John turned his head and glared at the detective. The tiled floor clacked underneath Sherlock's shoes, his long coat swishing behind him, as John trailed after. People dancing and grinding around them, stared strangely at the two. They certainly were not dressed for clubbing. Sherlock headed over to the bar, and eased himself onto a bar stool. The bartender, a red head came over to attend to them. She chewed on a piece of gum, and as she did, Sherlock noticed two piercings on her tongue. He also knew that she had a child at home, and she was working hard to pay for the child. Her parents were both dead, and she was a smoker and a drug addict. But Sherlock wasn't here to focus on that. He had more important things to watch out for. He ordered a red wine for himself, and a beer for John, who glared at him, peeved that he had not been able to order for himself, although a beer was what he had been wanting anyway. Sherlock snapped his attention to the stage, where another performer was coming on.  
Usually performers like this, never held Sherlock's attention, but he couldn't take his eyes off this one. She was short, only a little over 5'2", yet still slender. She was of Indian descent, he could make out, but she was far from a practicer of Indian tradition, if she was here. Her hair was thin, yet silky, black, and only shoulder length. Her nose was sharp, and Sherlock noticed, strangely proportionate on her face. Sherlock had noticed before that noses were rarely fitting on their owners' faces, but this one was. Her eyes gazed over the drinking crowd. Her eyes were a dark brown, almost black. They flitted over Sherlock, sitting at the bar. They made brief eye contact, but she quickly moved on. She was intelligent. She knew not to catch the attention of Sherlock. But it was too late for that. Sherlock's green eyes followed her carefully as she stepped in a few fluid motions, towards the microphone, her long red dress flowing behind her. She had been to a prestigious university, Sherlock could make out, by the way she held herself. Oxford. She loved dogs. Usually mundane people like this bored Sherlock very fast. But something about her held Sherlock's attention. One gloved hand of hers' took the microphone.  
John looked sideways at Sherlock, whose eyes were glued to the stage. A small frown creased John's face. Sherlock was never this captivated by a woman. Music started to play, John recognized it, but didn't know the song name. Sherlock watched as she picked up the microphone and started to sing.

_If you know how to be my lover_  
_Maybe you can be my baby_  
_Hold me close under the covers_  
_Kiss me boy and drive me crazy_

She sang in a voice like an angel. It was high in all the right parts and husky when it should have been. Sherlock was captivated by the woman. Her voice held him under a trance. John stared in an amazement at Sherlock as she plunged into the second chorus. The whole club was staring at her. It wasn't her looks that captivated them. She was beautiful, John would give her that, but her voice was so rich and luxurious, she held the whole audience under a spell.  
When she finished the song, she just flashed a smile at the audience and turned and walked offstage.  
Sherlock snapped out of the trance and turned to look at John, who laughed. Sherlock had finally fallen under the power of a woman. Sherlock just turned as another singer came onstage and finished his wine. He dropped the glass on the counter and got up. John downed his beer and followed him through the dancing crowd. When he realized where Sherlock was going, Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"I'm going back there for the case, John." He yelled over the dance music.  
"Whatever you think, Sherlock." John yelled back.  
The two men stepped into the back hallway, and the music quietened to a dull roar. Sherlock stepped down the hallway. A pained yell came from a dressing room, a mans yell.  
Sherlock started to run towards the door the yell came from. Just before he reached the door, it burst open, and the woman came out. Her head turned towards Sherlock and John, before she stepped in the opposite way and started to walk down the hallway, her red dress fluttering behind her, underneath a long black coat. Sherlock rushed into the room, and saw a man lying on the floor, his face contorted in agony, a letter opener in his chest. John dropped to his knees and started to pump the mans chest.  
"Try to save him, John" Sherlock said, stepping back out of the room and following the way he had seen the woman go. John gave an exasperated snort, but to his dismay, Sherlock was already gone. Sherlock turned to the left, and went down the hallway, where there was a door marked 'Exit'. Sherlock burst out it, and saw the woman just about to leave the alleyway that the door had led into. Sherlock sprinted to catch up to her. He tried to convince himself it was because of the probable murder she had just committed. But he knew otherwise. He came up behind her and grabbed her shoulder with a black gloved hand. She swiveled around, fast, surprise flashing in her dark eyes. Sherlock pinned her against the brick wall, his hand just under her throat. She stared at him for a moment.  
"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" She asked in her sultry voice.  
"Why did you kill him?" Sherlock growled, deep in his throat. She just laughed. Sherlock was taken aback.  
"Why would I tell you?" She questioned.  
"Because you know who I am." Sherlock replied.  
"I know who you are. But that doesn't mean I believe what they say about you. Impress me." She challenged, a smirk on her face. Sherlock raised a brow.  
"You're quite young, 24, left handed, you love dogs, you have three, you went to a presitigious university, I think Oxford. You have two sisters, and your father died when you were young. Even thought you have a British accent, you haven't been in the country for a few years. You love music a lot more than normal people, and you're a very social person. You love the color purple, it's your favorite. You smoke, but you aren't addicted, you do it for conversational purposes. You drink, you don't like to travel, and you love chinese food." Sherlock recited.  
She just laughed.  
"I suppose what they say about you isn't true then. I am 24, but I love cats more than dogs, I have three cats, not dogs. and I went to a prestigious university, but it was Harvard, not Oxford. I have one brother, my father is still alive and well, thank you, and you were right. I have not been back to England since I finished college. I do love music a lot, but I'm not a social person. I avoid people when I can. My favorite color is red, not purple, I do smoke, but I'm not addicted. I do it for conversational purposes, as you said. I've never touched alcohol in my life, I love to travel, I just haven't been many places, only the States and here, and I do love chinese food." She said, completely and utterly smashing Sherlock.  
"Sherlock, if you want to impress a woman, you need to deduce her 100% correctly, not 50%. That was disappointing." She said, smiling.  
Sherlock had been _wrong_.  
He had deduced a person _wrong_.  
Sherlock just stared at her.  
The door from the building swung open, and John stepped out, his hands bloody.  
"I... Couldn't save him, Sherlock, he's dead." John delivered the news solemnly.  
"He was the man who brought you here tonight." The woman informed the duo.  
Sherlock just stared hollowly at her, his green eyes boring into her dark brown ones.  
"Now, if you don't mind, I'll be leaving." She said, taking Sherlock's hand off of her. It dropped, limply at his side.  
"See you around, Mr. Holmes." She said in farewell and turned and walked out of the alleyway, into the street, turning right and disappearing.  
Sherlock turned to John, who was staring at him.  
"You just let a murderer go." John pointed out the obivous.  
Sherlock nodded.  
"She's a special one. She won't kill again, unless it's necessary. She's smart. But we need to find out about her." He said thoughtfully.  
'You don't even know her bloody name!" Captain Obvious Watson pointed out again.  
Sherlock nodded.  
"Names aren't everything John. Let the games begin." Sherlock muttered, turning out of the alleyway and walking to hail a cab.  
"Are we just going to leave him there?" John asked, exasperatedly.  
"I need to think, John," Sherlock said, climbing in a cab that stopped.  
"What did she do that shook you up so badly?" John inquired.  
"I deduced her wrong John. That's the first time in my whole life." Sherlock muttered, half to himself. John just gaped.  
"Baker Street, driver," Sherlock said sharply. He shut the door and the taxi drove off.  
John stood on the sidewalk, still gaping. Sherlock deducing somebody _wrong_ was unheard of. John looked down the street as the police came down the road, their sirens wailing. Three police cars came to a halt in front of where John stood. Lestrade stepped out of one of them.  
"Where's Sherlock?" He asked, looking around for the tall detective.  
"He-uh- he went home. He needed to think." Lestrade nodded and signaled to his men to go into the building.  
John just stood there. This was going to be a hell of a case.

**Hey guys! So this is my new Sherlock fanfiction. Um, it's not Johnlock, even though I love Johnlock. OTP. But anyway, I'm going to try to update as often as possible for this, because I'm excited about it. I'm not new on FF but I do have a new account! So anyway, please read, review, and give me feedback if it's good or not! Constructive Criticism is welcome! Also, before I go, I want to tell you a bit about myself. I'm a girl, I''m thirteen years old, and I'm a diehard fangirl. I love Taylor Swift so much, I love Doctor Who, BBC Sherlock, I'm starting to watch Supernatural, and I love the bands Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco and I like Marina and the Diamonds! That's all you need to know about me! Byeee!**

**-trenchcoatswift**


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